


Mortis

by GodGloop



Category: Beetlejuice (1988)
Genre: Afterlife, Beetlejuice - Freeform, Cam work, College, Consensual Sex, F/F, F/M, Hate to Love, Main Character Death, Multi, Older Character, Sex Work, Stalking, Stripping, Teasing, Violence, cursing, in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-01-15 18:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodGloop/pseuds/GodGloop
Summary: Local small town goth Lydia Deetz runs away from her venomous stepmother and passive father to take control of her own future in art school. Unfortunately her time is cut short. In her father’s grief and guilt he calls on the most devious of ghosts to find her in the afterlife.





	1. Chapter 1

Charles and Delia Deetz rode together in the heated leather backseat of a pristine black SUV, neither of them acknowledging the other. The only noise was the rhythmic swaying of the windshield wiper and the wheels going over small puddles in the gravel. It has only been a few minutes but it felt like hours. Delia’s long manicured nails gripped into a black alligator skin clutch that sat neatly in her lap. She could hardly take the negative energies that coated the air the only way grief seemed to.

“Lydia would’ve loved our outfits.” Delia smiled besides herself, to her husband who said nothing. He only offered a slight chuckle and nodded solemnly. Delia’s smile faded as she heard an exhausted sigh from the large dark haired man driving them.

“Don’t you think, Otho?’ Delia tried again, this time toward her long time friend.

“Yes. Delia.” He looked in the rear view mirror back at the red haired woman. She couldn’t tell if he was smiling, he was wearing large dark rimmed sunglasses. Confident that she made the air a little less dense, she looked out the side window at the grey toned small businesses. ‘They somehow look even more disheveled in the rain.’ Delia grimaced as they rolled closer to the ugly Winter River bridge. It’s bright crimson paint starting to peel from the misty weather created the illusion its wooden planks were bleeding.

It went pitch dark around them as they passed underneath. Charles used the opportunity to wipe his damp eyes with the wrists of his black button down shirt. Delia had suggested he wore a gaudy black and grey patterned shirt with white pants. Charles did not respond to her desperate insistings on how he should dress to his own daughter’s funeral, he just quietly put on his solid black ensemble. Delia decided not press (more that what she already had), plus an all black dress with golden accessories was a classic.

Finally Otho pulled the SUV into the church lot struggling to park the massive vehicle in its tiny spaces. He ended up easing one tire onto its muddy lawn, frustrated he threw it into park. “We’re here.” He monotonically announced before heaving out of the car and slipping a long thin cigarette from his grey sports jacket inner pocket. He stood for a moment staring up through the light rain at the church’s steeple. ‘Good roof, abysmal parking.’ He thought. The thwick of Delia’s zippo brought him back, he turned to see Delia with her own thin cigarette already between her lips. Charles lagged behind her. Otho felt bad for Charles, though he never personally had any patience for children, anybody could see the salesman loved his daughter Lydia and her interests. Even if it was messing with the lace veil of life and death.

Otho shook his head to rid the memory of the exorcism-gone-wrong in the Deetz’s horridly decorated dining room. He nearly lost his mind afterwards, struggling to understand the written notes he’d taken from The Handbook For The Recently Deceased. And it wasn’t particularly something you could casually bring up to a therapist. Eventually, The notes were all burned. Whenever he awoke from nightmares of a pale mans face on a serpents body in a cold sweat, he got up and flipped through interior design magazines, just for a chuckle at what they considered ‘style’ before returning to bed.

The trio slowly made their way to the large oak doors, the rain now just a mist in the cool autumn air. Otho casually turned to Delia and gestured at her lit cigarette (his own hadn’t made it to his lips), “It’s bad luck to smoke near a church.” Delia immediately crushed it under her heel. Flake.

The funeral was simple to plan for. Charles had picked all black fabrics for the tables and pews. The casket was a long dark mirror, it looked as if it was dipped into the river Styx itself. The dim candles reflected such a way on the round of Lydia’s cheekbones. Charles remained crouched by her casket and wept, she was already so pale in life that Lydia looked as if asleep. Through his blurry vision and the play of the candle light he was convinced she might have taken a breath or two. When he touched her hand it became apparent - Lydia Deetz - his only daughter, has passed on. Delia was sweeping across the church guest to guest. Some were family members of Charles, most of them she hadn’t met. When the guests made it clear they would like to be left alone to grieve she reluctantly approached the casket.

Lydia looked different than Delia remembered. When she last saw her Lydia was red in the face, tears soaked her cheeks, she had had enough with Delia.

Delia’s mouth scrunched up from grudge, ‘I don't even remember what she was so mad about. Something childish- I’m sure.’ She thought. Lydia was eighteen when the attitude explosion happened, the woman in the casket was twenty-four. A stranger.

The uloge was long and tiring, and bunch of Lydia’s “artist” friends arrived with personally written poems that were long winded, morbid, and dramatic. Charles didn't seem to mind the strangers proclaiming the dark abysses that await Lydia’s soul, because he knew Lydia would’ve loved every word. Charles was glad to see she ended up with so many friends, he just wished he was one of them. After everything Delia was insufferable and made it a point to harass Lydia daily about her choices, the ghosts, her lack of success in classes. One night she over stepped and threatened to call Bug Man (as he came to be referred) to get rid of the kind ghost couple that lived in the attic who at the time were Lydia’s only friends. That was when Lydia made plans and left Charles and Delia to deal with lingering tension, and no way to apologize. Charles only blamed himself for never intervening the arguments. He knew Lydia would never like her stepmother, and could live with that, but he has discovered too late he couldn’t live with her hating him. Now for all eternity.

Later that night while Delia was snoring over the loudness of their bedroom box tv. Charles studied himself in the bathroom mirror; his red hair had greys, his eyes were puffy from tears and guilt, his face had become gaunt in the span of six years. He stared long at himself before taking in a rattling breath,  
“Beetle juice, beetle juice, beetle juice.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A memory of Lydia before she passed. Age eighteen.

Ante Mortem-

Lydia never looked back after her confrontation with Delia, she only took a rucksack onto the greyhound bus only packed with the essentials. After everything, with the glimpse into the beyond and the botched exorcism of Barbara and Adam; running away from the huge country house by herself at eighteen was by far the scariest event in her life, at least this far. She had to make up a plan quickly after Delia had the nerve to threaten Lydia with calling the Bug Man. Luckily through Delia’s desperate attempts to keep up with the times, they had bought extremely expensive internet that took weeks to figure out even how to connect to Winter River in general. The company hadn’t even considered the small town for a business plan. But with enough nagging and deep pockets the Deetz had worldwide access, and quickly found friends with the same interests on alternative style forums. That’s when she had met a “Lolita” named Shannon, her obsession with morbidly cute fashion drew in Lydia and they IM’d into the early morning hours about the best placements for patches of of black lace and ribbons bows, Lydia wanted very badly to photograph Shannon in her dresses. Soon their conversations became more personal as they verified they were actually both young women of the subculture than creepy balding men. Shannon was older by four years and had her own place. She sympathized when Lydia shared her nightmare fights with Delia and the indifference of her father. Shannon begged her to move in with her but Lydia always laughed it off with an “I WISH”. After all, her friends were here, a lovely newlywed ghost couple in her attic.

When Lydia. Ran stairs to tell the couple the horrible threats Delia made, they had already been listening on the top of the attic stairs. Barbara clutching Adam’s arm in worry, just with a glance they had made up their mind to support Lydia’s decision to leave the townhouse. Not for their own safety but they couldn’t take seeing Lydia’s face being soaked with tears. They sat together in the dusty dark attic for hours, helping Lydia plan her big escape. With her laptop out she IM’d Shannon and waited for the response.

“So, you can talk to people without talking to them?” Adam looked over the strange clunky device. Lydia nodded and told him about how most things can be done using ‘internet’. Adam looked bewildered at Barbara, who just smiled and shrugged back at her husband. Adam lost his mind when Lydia produced an overhead map of Winter River.

“Well! That sure would have come in handy! A few years late.” He studied the large hand crafted model he’d spent years hunched over every detail.

“You did a fantastic, honey.” Barabara kissed Adam’s cheek, his chest puffed out a bit. They both went on about how accurate the model was when Lydia finally got a ping on the IM.

“Are you sure you want to go? With a stranger?” Barbara’s spectral hands fazed through Lydia’s as she tried to hold them. Tears welled up in her large brown eyes, looking at the girl she had adopted in her heart as her child.

“She’s eighteen, Barbara. She’s going to be okay.” Adam wrapped his arms around his eternal partner reassuringly, “Plus, you’re packing the Ouija board?” He looked at Lydia, who nodded as she brushed away her own tears.

“Of course.”

Lydia’s folders were nearly falling apart from all the polaroids taken during the bus trip. After a few blocks through a suburban neighborhood the sun began to sink changing the shadows to odd shapes until night quickly followed. Lydia stared at the scrap piece of paper with a scribbled address. Desperately checking each houses numbers but it didn't seem like she was getting closer. It was getting cold. Lydia pulled up the hood of her black fleece jacket and stopped underneath a lamp post to look at street signs, and adjust her clunky boots. Poor choices were made. Her feet definitely had a few blisters but she hadn’t expected such a long walk.

Baker Place.  
East Avenue.  
There it was, Elm Street.

A white car pulled up closely to her left, Lydia decided to get moving again and picked up her pace. Shannon had mentioned stories about how the college kids got rowdy every weekend, it just so happened to be a Saturday night. Lydia passed the next two streets and so did the white mystery car. Despite her screaming blisters she began to jog and sharply turned through someone’s yard onto Elm Street, the car did not follow. She breathed a sigh of relief that rattled against her ribs. Slowly she started again only to yelp at sudden pain in her ankle that twisted in a pot hole.

“Fucking. Boots!” Lydia popped the ridiculous PVS shoes off and flung them into the darkness. They landed somewhere behind a house’s fence, startling a dog into hysterical barking. Exasperated and hurt Lydia took another look at the address, ‘well how about that.’ She thought when the numbers on the house she just chucked her footwear at matched the crinkled paper. She sat on the concrete for a moment rubbing her ankle until she heard approaching voices and laughter. Lydia made her way across the street and knocked on the door. The house was made of brick and wasn’t very large. The lawn was cared for but had already turned brown from the seasons changing. The dog was still losing its mind barking through the wooden planks of the fence. The house remained dark.

Lydia rang the doorbell. Nothing. She knocked again, but no lights came on. She looked at the paper, it was right, this was the house.

Tears stung her eyes in the cold air instantly regretting even coming to an internet stranger’s home. Probably was some creeper after all. Lydia slunk down on the doorstep and wiped her eyes.

Headlights approached from around the street corner and slowed down as it got closer. Lydia’s heart started to race.

“Lydia?” It was Shannon. The driver door flung open and suddenly Lydia was being hugged tightly. Shannon had grown worried if Lydia’s bus was late or she had gotten lost and decided to drive up to the bus station to look for her.

“You wouldn’t believe the attitude they gave me, I swear.” Shannon went on as she unlocked the door to let them both inside, “Like, hello! I’m looking for someone! Could be lost! Maybe kidnapped!” Shannon flipped on the lights to reveal a heavily decorated living room of black lace curtains, an antique velvet couch and loveseat. Every inch of the walls were covered with oil paintings of somber catholic saints in dark settings and crucifixes of various shapes and styles. Shannon turned to Lydia and crinkled her blonde brows.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Lydia wiped her eyes which now leaked with relieved joy and shook her head with a smile.

“And eh, Lydia, where’s your shoes?”


	3. Call Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You rang? A deal is made between the Ghost With The Most and dear ole’ dad. In continuation of the first chapter of Mortis.

Charles clenched his fists and closed his eyes, expecting a clap of thunder or to suddenly drop into some bizarro horror world. A few long seconds passed, nothing happened. He opened one eye to be sure before loosening his death grip on the bathroom sink. Only his exhausted aged reflection stared back at him.

‘Why would you risk that? Crazy freak was eaten years ago.’

After washing his face with some soothing warm water he made his way back into bed without disturbing his snoring wife. The darkness of the room seemed to become fuzzy as his eyes strained from fatigue, eventually they closed and he drifted to sleep.

Charles sat by his office window the next morning. The birds were everywhere, and not the usual raggedy black birds but actual chickadees and other colorful songbirds. He was still weary with sleep and grief, but bird song always lifted his spirits. Bird watching was a hobby that followed him since his Boy Scout days. Now it was a large collection of bird watching field guides that lined the shelves in the roomy office. Charles leaned onto the window sill and started pointing out the different species that fluttered in and out of view.

‘Cassini Finch… American Goldfinch… Red-crested Cardinal… and-‘

Charles had purposely avoided looking at the church. He found himself counting the headstones and staring at Lydia’s resting place. The soft light of the peaceful morning and the sparkling dew grass reminded him of the days when Lydia was just a toddler, running after every kind of creepy crawly imaginable. A choking lump developed in his throat, just as the tears began to well, a large black and white bird swooped above the statuettes and grave markers to perch on top of the ivory steeple. Charles squinted at it. Unable to name the odd avion. He cleared his throat and grabbed a dense encyclopedia of Northern Hemisphere birds, thumbed to the dark plumed section and got his binoculars ready.

‘Let’s see, black and white striped wind tips, cardinal like point of head feathers…’ The pages flipped as Charles ruled out unmatching birds, and kept flipping. Abruptly he found himself looking at descriptive images of insects, grotesque images of centipedes and roaches. ‘What the hell?’ He looked up at the mystery bird and raised his binoculars once more. The bird seemed to now be convulsing and hacking. Bugs of all sorts were being coughed up onto the church’s roof, still squirming and writhing.

‘Dear God in heaven.’

Black and white feathers scattered around violently as insects continued to explode from it. Charles then noticed what looked to be solid black barbed legs poking out of the bird's abdomen, they lengthened into six long beetle-like legs. Life escaped the bird, its head sickeningly lolled to the side as the alien appendages began to move the carcass. It scuttled down the white steeple disturbingly quick. Charles couldn’t look away frozen with his mouth agape in horror, cold sweat beaded under thinning ginger hair. The distorted animal scurried closer and closer the Deetz’s home on the hill. So close now, almost to the driveway.

“BOO.”

Charles launched himself backwards onto the floorboards with a shriek. A gravelly laugh boasted around him as he was roughly lifted from the ground back into his office chair. Still shocked he screamed again at the sight of the poltergeist sitting in the chair across the desk. The once-alive pompous man was wearing his familiar adornment of obnoxious black and white vertically striped suit. His hair was a bright molded green that spread into rough chin stubble. Bright eyes shown within purple-ish black bruised sockets, contrasting dramatically against bloodless pale skin. His yellow teeth showed as he laughed hysterically at Charles’ priceless expression. It was Beetlejuice.

“Too much, Chuck?! Wah-hah-ha!” Dirt clumps chipped across the polished desk as the ghost smacked his crusted shoes on to it. He jerked his head as he smirked at his own antics, “Ya know, the bird shtick, always wanted to try it. Some real Stephen King level shit. Who better to blow my creepy load on than my good ole’ pal Chucky.” As he talked he moved his hands flamboyantly, “We are still pals, right? No hard feelings?”

Charles just stared dumbfounded with his mouth open, drenched with sweat. Regret and fear sunk into his chest. Beetlejuice was still alive, or rather, out and about after years of thinking he was dead-dead in a sandworm in some fuck off other dimension. But here he is, now pulling out a moldy cigar from deep inside his suit pocket and he was still yammering on and on like they were old college mates.

“Beetleju-!” A goldfish appeared in his mouth, Charles spat it out and gagged.

“Okay, first, BJ, is just fine, thanks. Second, I was just tryin’ to do my job. If ya want to blame someone it's the hallmark card couple in your attic.” He lit the cigar which secreted vile green smoke, after a puff he continued, “Now. About tryin’ for your daughter’s skirt-“ He flung up his palms in defense and shrugged, “I had no clue she was a toddler! DIDN’T ASK. My luck to chase a pair of diapers, she was an early bloomer, sue me! Hell! She was wearing those corsets, Chuck. Honestly, you shoulda’ raised her better. In the Afterlife Press it called me uh, uh PREDATOR. C’mon! Me?! When I was already up to my knees in sandworm! Talk about kickin’ a man when he’s down.” He paused to cross his arms and puff on the cigar while furrowing his brows at Charles, “Yo! EARTH TO CHUCK.”

“I-I must be dreaming.”

“I am dreamy. But that is besides the point. You’re pissing me off. Ya can’t just call me up whenever. I’m a very busy man. You called. I answered. So what-the-fuck-ya-want? Huh?” Beetlejuice stopped and changed his tone while his eyes became mischievous, tilting his head down and eyeing Charles with a cocked eyebrow, “I knew it. I knew it! After seeing Lydia’s taste in boys you want a real man to step in. How old is she now? If Lydia looked like that back then,” He low whistled and waggled his green brows, “College Girls Gone Wild: PVC And Lace Edition-“

Charles bolted up furiously from his chair slamming both fists hard onto the wood. Beetlejuice flinched back and the cigar slipped from his lips in surprise. Pure rage radiated from Charles as he spat out,  
“Lydia is dead! You son of a BITCH! She’s. DEAD.”

Charles’ throat caught as he slowly slumped back into the plush chair, covering his face he began to quietly sob to himself. Beetlejuice said nothing. The poltergeist stayed silent for a long time as the poor father wept across from him. In Beetlejuice’s case, silence for over a minute is a record. It stretched uncomfortably out so long that Charles almost forgot the specter was still there. He didn’t care if he still was, how could he really summon this fucking creep, to what? Help? When Beetlejuice has done nothing but terrorize his family and force Lydia into marrying him. Exhausted he shook his head slowly and wiped his forehead.

“Chuck.” 

The tone was sincere and serious. Charles glanced up at the striped man, who was now leaning forward on his crossed arms propped on the table. His expression was pained, perhaps even sympathetically so, with his forehead deeply creased. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t utter a sound, he awkwardly leaned back with a small sad chuckle and loosened the black tie around his neck. Clearing his throat he tried again, “Did she…?” With a finger hooked in his tie and pulled it up symbolizing a noose.

Charles blinked and quickly shook his head no. Beetlejuice exhaled in relief before slapping his thighs and standing. Charles stared down at his own hands, noticing how time has affected them. He snapped out of it when a glass of whiskey slid across the table and clinked against his wedding band. Beetlejuice quietly smiled at him from the alcohol cabinet in the corner and briefly toasted. Charles downed the drink appreciatively as it burned the back of his throat and shook his nerves. Placing the empty crystal glass down as the phantom walked to look out of a window. 

Beetlejuice vacantly held the glass as he thought of the first time he spoke with the perky little goth-ette. How could he forget. It was after a night of sexual sensationalism with the girls at Dante’s brothel, Beetlejuice was enjoying a much needed dose of nicotine while lounging on the balcony. Beetlejuice felt like a king, even while the size of a Lego piece in Adam’s crappy model of Winter River. The smoke curled from his lips as he looked over the details in the street signs and miniature architectural designs. Okay. Adam did a good job. When suddenly this dark figure sashayed from the corner of the room into view. A weepy goth girl wearing all gloomy fabrics and black lace was curious of him. And he was definitely interested in her. He talked about wanting out of the afterlife, and she surprised him when she muttered, “I want in.” Beetlejuice had only just met the girl and she trusted a complete stranger with soft nativity about her inner most suicidal desires. Nobody had exposed themselves in that way to him before. All he could ask was, “why?” He saw promise in her, to get out, to use her, to finally get out. But he found himself thinking about that moment with her while he sat in the stomach of a sandworm after the botched ceremony. He thought about her often, even in inappropriate instances. About a would-have-been honeymoon. He felt his muscles contract and he caught himself.

“So. To business. Charles Deetz.” Beetlejuice hovered close and glared into Charles’ eyes with blazing intensity. Almost angrily he hissed, “Why’d you call?”

He swallowed, “Find her. Please. I need to speak to her.” Charles’ hands shook under the pressure of the corpse’s stare; he felt the urge to confess, “I need to apologize for being a horrible father. And..”

Beetlejuice impatiently rolled his fingers in a ‘continue’ motion.

“I need to know… who fucking killed her.”

Beetlejuice squinted angrily, his side of the room seemed to darken and bizarre shadows writhed on the wall behind him. Charles suddenly felt scared as he realized he never saw the poltergeist furious, only when he was having fun with his horrific pranks. A chill shot up his spine. Beetlejuice teleported to the window behind him, he jumped when he spoke again,

“It won't be a cakewalk, Chuck.” He chuckled raspily, “Ever since The King came over, hoo boy. Finding a specific ghost isn’t exactly in the yellow pages.” Beetlejuice looked at the church, down the rows of headstones, and stared at the fresh grave marked Loving Daughter Lydia Deetz. “I’ll do it…” he paused and smiled menacingly to himself, “but what do I get?”  
He slowly bent close to Charles’ left ear, his breath was like curdled milk, cold and raspy he whispered,

“What’s in it for me?”

Charles was frozen in terror, not daring to say his end of the bargain out loud, he turned his head cautiously and his desperate gaze locked with Beetlejuices’ wild expression. Charles’ eyes watered and he swallowed nervously. Beetlejuice grinned maliciously, aggressively grabbing the man’s right hand.

“Deal.”

——————-

Charles sat upright in panic, gasping for breath. He looked around to find he was back under his bed sheets. The room was bright with morning light. It was a dream. Charles chuckled to himself, ‘thank god’. He kicked out of the blankets with a big smile and got up to get some breakfast. As he walked down the hallway the office door made him hesitate, half expecting the grotesque ghoul to pop out and scare the hell out of him. With his foot he pushed open the door to find everything was normally placed. Charles did a small jig and bounced down the first couple of steps. Suddenly from outside he heard Delia scream. He jumped the rest of the stairs, his heart pumping close to bursting as he barged into the garage.

“WHAT, WHAT HAPPENED? Delia?”

Delia had a hand covering her mouth and pointed toward the driveway with a shaky finger. A black and white lump laid halfway up it. Charles began to sweat as he slowly inched toward it. There was the striped black and white bird, its neck dementedly twisted, bugs frantically danced around the carcass.

‘Dear God. What have I done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to make the most out of quarantine and hopefully finish this lol. Sorry no total full on smut yet. Tell me what you think,,, just be gentle ;-;


	4. The “Other Parents”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara and Adam try the Ouija board to contact Lydia after her funeral. The pair then cross into the Other Side to converse with Juno, only to find the guide is ‘indisposed’.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Adam stared at the dark attic wall as his spectral wife sobbed softly into his shoulder. They had been sitting on the dust covered couch since overhearing the news of Lydia’s death. The departed couple had hunkered quietly on the top of the stairs listening to the serious whispers between the coroner and Charles from the living room.

‘I’m sorry, Charles,’ The coroner had a deep voice that was solemnbut truthful like a toll of a church bell. He paused and removed his dark rimmed hat to run a hard through his graying hair before continuing, ‘The cause of death is uncertain. Honestly looks as if the girl was raptured.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Charles sounded so small, Barbara was thankful his back was toward the stairs so they couldn’t see his face. The coroner cleared his throat.

‘The body- I apologize… Lydia did not have any signs of violence, disease, poisoning, or organ failure. It is as if her soul just packed up and left.’

Adam squeezed Barbara close to his side as Charles’ head lowered into his hands. Outside it had started to thunder.

Since then they sat on the dilapidated attic couch, the curtains closed, the model’s fairy lights the only source of light. Barbara had many crying fits. Adam however, was perplexed about Lydia’s death and combed through The Handbook For The Recently Deceased several times leading up towards the day of Lydia’s viewing. Barbara eventually took up pacing around and around the attic- glancing sadly at the Winter River graveyard from the window.

“If only we could talk to her agai-.” She stopped and frantically threw herself onto her hands and knees to fish out the Ouija board from underneath the intricate town model and wiped off the dust. Barbara looked up at Adam with a hopeful smile. He rushed over and joined her on the floor, hands over the planchette. 

“Okay, Barbara.” Adam nodded, “let's give it a shot.” They both closed their eyes and moved the planchette in three wide figure eights before quickly spelling out  
L-Y-D-I-A D-E-E-T-Z  
The planchette spun out from under their fingertips. The center lens began to pulsate a dim sickly green. Barbara and Adam stared at each other with anticipation as the piece spun in place to suddenly stop. From the planchette came an ungodly screaming that made them jump- the screaming changed pitches over several minutes. They both stared in confusion.

“I think Lydia told me about this…” Adam furrowed his brow at the wailing wooden board, “I think she called it ‘dial-up’.”

“I don't think that applies to Ouija.”

The planchette began to jerk from letter to letter to spell:  
W-E-R-E. S-O-R-R-Y. T-H-E. S-O-U-L. Y-O-U-R-E. T-R-Y-I-N-G. T-O. R-E-A-C-H. I-S. U-N-A-V-A-I-L-

Barbara groaned and slid the planchette to the ‘GOODBYE’ on the board harshly. The glow slowly faded away. “I can’t believe we wasted all that time decoding that!”

“Don’t be discouraged, Barbara. I've been reading through the handbook and it mentioned souls having a waiting period until being fully registered to receive sermons from other spectral entities. I know we want to talk to her now… but maybe we have to wait.”

Barbara looked at him with wide eyes, “The waiting room!” She scrambled to her feet and pulled out a small stick of white chalk. Before Adam could even stand from the floor and follow she had already opened the hand drawn door with her body half way in.

“Barbara!”

“What?!” She stopped. Adam snatched the handbook off the couch and joined his wife to cross into the other side.

Immediately they found themselves standing in a typical waiting room. Several chairs of various sizes and designs lined the walls. The air was stale, everything seemed to be a tint of sickly green. The long room had a bizarre atmosphere of a paranormal location that was struggling to camouflage as something from the living world. Everything in the room seemed normal but nothing about it was, like a dream. Persons of many diverse deaths boredly looked up at the newcomers then back to their identical handbooks.  
Adam scanned for an empty seat and began to head towards it when Barbara grabbed his wrist and practically drug him across the checkerboard floor. Adam stumbled on himself to keep up, glancing at every seated guest to hopefully see the familiar pale young woman they illegitimately adopted. They stopped a few feet behind a recently deceased woman who was nude despite a fluffy spa towel. Her bare feet were freshly pedicured; her hands were rested on the counter of the receptionist desk. Adam struggled to focus on these aspects of the woman, as her torso was covered in acupuncture needles. And Adam wasn’t a fan of needles. The woman prattled on and on to the receptionist. The needles precariously jiggled every time she laughed. Adam tried not to gag.

“Excuse me.” Barbara influxed at the woman, “are you finished?”

The pincushion cleared her throat and hushly, “can you believe this bitch?” The receptionist giggled. Barbara then rammed herself between the two, knocking the woman backwards, “hey!” She was about to grab at Barbara only to meet a glare with the sting of a thousand daggers. The needle woman scoffed and made her own way. Her bare feet slapping against the tile.  
At the removal of her friend the receptionist stood abruptly and tried to slam the small desk window but Barbara quickly caught it. The sea green Miss Argentina growled, “OH NO! NOT you two again, you’ll have to wait!” She tried once more to slide the screen closed but eventually gave up to Barbara’s grip. Miss Argentina threw her palms up in defeat, “Okay! Fine. What? You release another loco poltergeist again or something?” She sassily posed her hands on her lavishly dressed hips.

Adam stepped forward gingerly, “We need to speak to Juno, please.”

“YOU need to speak to Juno? Ha! Well, I’m afraid she’s booked.”

Barbara raised an eyebrow, “booked?”

“That means ‘very busy’.” Miss Argentina replied snidely.

“Okay, but this is an emergency!” Spoke up Adam. A few seated persons looked up from their reading, Adam tried again calmer, “If you check our file, we should have all the necessary vouchers.”

Miss Argentina exhaled heavily and rolled her eyes, “You don't understand. Juno has had a huge jump in cases.” Her expression changed to borderline worry. She took a second to pat at her hot rod red beehive hairdo before continuing, “Juno’s current cases are way more of an emergency than yours.”

Befuddled, they asked simultaneously, “How?”

“Confidential!” Punctuated by a successful slam of the privacy screen.

Hand in hand Adam and Barbara slowly made their way down the familiar slowly spiraling corridor. Doors and windows of many styles leading to other dimensions. Sometimes muffled voices can be heard behind some of the closed doors. Adam and Barbara checked the number of each passing frame, since the numbers were generally jumbled and the corkscrewing floor made the process disorienting. Finally, they stood outside their front door; for a second they didn't recognize it. Every time since drowning to death leaving the house leads to a Saturn sandworm pit. Seeing the front door wasn’t a daily luxury anymore. They hesitated.

“Should we go back?” Barbara said softly, squeezing her husband’s hand.

“For now.” Adam turned to her just to look into her worried brown eyes. He took a moment to gently touch her soft face with the back of his fingers. Barbara’s expression faded into a sad acceptance. They won’t be able to find or speak to Lydia anytime soon. Adam wiped at a tear that threatened to trail down her cheek and embraced her.

“Psst.”  
Adam opened his eyes and moved Barbara’s curls aside.

“Psst, over here.” Came a voice from further down the long hallway. The couple looked at each other before inching closer to discover the voice came from behind a dingy looking door.

“Uhm, hello?”

“Oh good.” The door opened to reveal a ghastly pale man in a janitor's uniform who slid from the door frame. He casually locked the door with a key from an enormous key ring. When he hooks it back onto his belt his uniform sags to one side from the weight. “Listened to your conversation at the desk. They’ve been turnin’ away dead folk left n’ right last few weeks. Somethin’ bad goin’ on, Maitlands. Juno has been at her desk sorting cases like a bat outta hell.”

“What’s happening?”

“Dunno. Nothin’ natural. Tons of unknowns.”

“Unknowns?” Barbara leaned towards the janitor, he nodded.

“Dead without a cause.” He stared blankly from his dark eye sockets at nothing before turning to leave, “poor devils.”

“Hold on. Aren’t those doors to other dimensions?” Adam pointed at the door the janitor had hid inside.

The janitor stopped, unblinking, and replied emotionless, “That’s a broom closet.”

“Oh.”

The Maitlands stood in awkward silence as the ghostly custodian sauntered away down the spiral, getting smaller and smaller. Barbara shuddered and opened their front door, “Let's get out of here. Place gives me the creeps.” They stepped through the door to the sound of unholy screaming from the garage.

————-

“Charles, I’m honestly shocked you went to… Him without coming to us first. We could have helped!”

“Can you help?”

“Well…” Barbara looked at Adam who shook his head. “No. We can’t do anything without Juno.”

“Who’s Juno?”

“Our case worker.”

Charles just nodded at the obscure idea of office work in the afterlife. He sighed and leaned back in his chair in regret, “I didn’t think He was actually going to show up! I thought He was dead. Dead-dead. When he appeared and was willing to make a deal...I jumped on the opportunity.”

Barbara moved closer with her arms open, “We all took Lydia’s death hard-“

“Murder!” Charles snapped, “She was murdered and you know it! You should know! Lydia replaced us with you! She wanted you to be her parents from the start. Get the fuck out of here!”

Barbara stood stunned until Adam turned her away to exit. They left Charles to sob quietly to himself and went up the stairs slowly. Closing the door lightly behind them. The couple snuggled close to each other on the usual couch as thunder began to shake their window. An autumn storm was swirling above the little White House on the hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about adding more and more storyline than..you know... smut. But we’ll get there together lol


End file.
